South Of The Border - Butch Leads The Way - From The Kunene To Epupa Falls

Our journey from Angola back into Namibia was remarkably straightforward. All we did was have our passports stamped, cross a river, and turn right at the T-junction. Yet, these simple actions marked a dramatic change in the landscape.

We’ve come from Angola into Namibia, and all that separates the two countries is the Kunene River, which illustrates that a few meters can mean a whole new world, where the beauty of the landscape is awe-inspiring yet virtually nothing is the same.

We were back in familiar territory. The sun was shining, and there was not a breath of wind. Once again, we were driving on the “wrong side of the road,” according to everyone we’d met from Europe and North Africa, who are accustomed to driving on the right side of the road.

In Namibia, driving on the left is a remnant of the country’s colonial history, a fact that often surprises visitors. But for us, it was a return to familiar rules.

On my side of the road, the landscape unfolded with swept, sandy yards, a few gnarled trees, little cottages, and a handful of locals going about their daily lives. The air was filled with the earthy scent of the desert, and the sound of goats bleating and chickens clucking added a gentle rhythm to the scene.

Properties are neatly fenced off, and homes are constructed of clay brick and mortar with corrugated iron roofs.

The striking bright colours painted on doors, walls and window frames, dropped like colourful Smarties dropped from the sky, add a cheerful touch to the otherwise austere, arid landscape.

Place names suggest a different language is spoken here, too. Instead of Portuguese, we would hear unblemished, pure, classic Afrikaans and the clicking of tongues by the Himba people.

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I am fascinated by the trees on this stretch of road, here they are slow-growing and contorted with age. Their limbs wither in extreme climatic conditions, including heat, drought, and poor sandy soil, and are often stunted as a result. 

Some of the species I could identify were:

1. Camel Thorn (Acacia erioloba). This hardy tree can grow up to 18 meters high and is a focal point of the ecosystem around it—a favourite nesting spot for birds. The roots can reach deep into the ground, tapping into underground water sources, which benefits both the tree and the surrounding life.

Beyond its ecological roles, the Camel Thorn holds a special place in the hearts of the Namibian people. Its wood is highly sought after for making furniture and tools, while the gum it secretes has traditional medicinal uses.

Various animals depend on seed pods for nourishment. For example, elephants love the pods and return to their favourite trees daily.

2. Mopane (Colophospermum mopane), colloquially known as the “butterfly tree. The leaves resemble a butterfly’s wings and provide essential nutrients to various grazers, including elephants.

The deep layer of leaves that fall enriches the soil, making it fertile for other plant species.

Termites often build mounds using Mopane leaves, adding to the unique landscape. Along the road, we noticed these tall, stalactite-like termite mounds.

Marvellous Mopane wood is highly durable, and its rich, reddish colour makes it popular for crafting musical instruments and intricate carvings. Mopane worms, which feed on the leaves, are also a valuable source of protein for many Namibians.

3. Leadwood (Combretum imberbe) has an almost mythical reputation for its long-lasting wood, which can endure for decades, even after the tree has died. It stands like a silent sculpture in the very landscape it once nourished.

Leadwoods host various types of lichens, which serve as a food source for animals. The tree itself is resistant to termites, and its dense wood can be used as an efficient fuel.

Often referred to as Sacred Tree, Leadwoods serve as landmarks and gathering points for local communities. Due to its durability, the wood is also used for constructing kraals (livestock enclosures) and canoes.

4. Shepherd’s Tree (Boscia albitrunc) provides a welcome respite from the relentless desert sun for both humans and animals. These trees prefer sandy soils and are commonly found in desert landscapes.

The leaves are a rich source of nutrition for animals. In fact, the Shepherd’s Tree has saved many a lost shepherd’s flock from starvation.

The roots and bark have medicinal properties, including treatments for malaria and snake bites.

5. Makalani Palm (Hyphaene petersiana) The Makalani Palm is the desert’s version of a tropical paradise, often growing near water sources and adding an exotic twist to Namibia’s landscape. The hard seeds known as vegetable ivory are used to fashion ornaments and jewellery. The fronds are used for thatching roofs and making baskets. 

6. Wild Teak (Pterocarpus angolensis) is a luxurious hardwood found in the woodlands of northern Namibia. Its rich, brownish-red timber is highly sought after in the furniture industry, both locally and internationally. The tree can grow up to 15 meters and has a rough, scaly bark.

Due to its slow growth rate, it’s vital to manage this resource sustainably to prevent overharvesting.

Namibia has implemented legal guidelines for the harvesting of Wild Teak to ensure its long-term survival.

Wild Teak has long been used in traditional Namibian medicine to treat a variety of illnesses, from stomach problems to skin conditions. It also holds cultural importance in some communities as a spiritual protector, and pieces of its bark are often carried as talismans.

7. African Baobab (Adansonia digitata). The baobab is the most iconic emblem of the continent’s landscapes. Towering with a distinctive outline, these stately trees are venerated for their resilience and adaptability in the arid regions of Africa. The Baobab is characterised by its bottle-shaped trunk, which can reach impressive diameters, often storing water to endure long periods of drought. Frequently referred to as the “Tree of Life,” the Baobab holds cultural significance among various African communities, providing not only nourishment (in the form of fruit) but also materials for shelter, clothing, and traditional medicine.

Please note: To identify trees, a closer inspection is necessary than my drive-by shooting. Please forgive me if my photos do not represent the exact species mentioned.

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Although the landscape, in its austerity, is magnificent (that is Namibia’s charm and a conundrum), the people we spotted along the roads were well-presented. Their homes and surroundings looked well cared for, and the roads we travelled on were generally in good nick. There’s no point in sugar-coating the realities. The resilience and resourcefulness of the Namibian people in this relentlessly brutal environment are frankly inspiring.

We dropped down from a higher elevation to the river, and before us stretched kilometres of rock, stunted trees dotted with autumnal Mopanes and the occasional herd of cattle and their herdsman.

Dry grasses had already bleached from a faded yellow to icy white, and, at times, the land was overgrazed. Fortunately, seeds have adapted over millions of years. It just takes a few drops of moisture to germinate the seeds, and soon, the earth will turn green in the spring and summer.

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Kunene River

We would spend our first night with our hosts, Hilya and Eben, at Tjonkuvi Otjiruwo Campsite, located on the Kunene River downstream of the Ruacana Falls in the Ruacana district.

According to their website, all shopping should be done beforehand at the Shoprite in Oshifo.

The Ruacana Falls are located in Omusati, on the Kunene River in northern Namibia, and mark the border between Namibia and Angola. When in full flood, they reach heights of 120 meters and widths of 700 meters. They are among the largest waterfalls in Africa, both in terms of volume and width, and will eventually flow into the Atlantic Ocean at the Skeleton Coast.

There are two hydroelectric power plants, and the bigger of the two was built at the falls by South Africa in 1970, and the Kunene was dammed accordingly. Although the Kunene is one of Namibia’s five perennial rivers, its water levels depend on the fluctuating annual rainfall in the Angolan Highlands and the opening of the two sluices that regulate the water supply for the power plants.

The full force of the falls can be best experienced during and after the rainy season. Due to the Calueque Dam in Angola, 40 km upstream, the water levels are typically very low at Ruacana. Nonetheless, the Falls have not lost any of their fascination and remain a tourist highlight (in April and May).

At the lower course of the river, whitewater rafting and canoe rides can be booked, but swimming is not advisable due to the large number of crocodiles in the river!

Unfortunately, we didn’t experience the full force of the falls; we only heard a thunderous explosion when the sluices were opened at night. However, Eben, who works at the power station, has access to the building and offers an insightful and informative half-day tour of the turbines, which is highly recommended.

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With Butch leading the way, we hiked all along the embankment wending our way through bright marmalade colours of Mopane forests, skipping over rocks and clambering over boulders.

 

The weather played along beautifully, not a breath of wind, sunny but not too hot, and the sound of the river’s flow over polished, smooth black rocks eased into our weary legs as we trekked along following the footpath the local shepherds use every day.

We were in a very sparsely populated area, yet we were never alone. Somehow, the presence of others could be sensed, and sometimes we’d confront someone out of the blue. Like ghosts, their footsteps tread silently on the earth.

While we enjoyed a short water break, sitting on a log listening to birdsong, we were joined by a shepherd, without his flock, who stopped to share our provisions before he sallied forth in no hurry at all and soon blended in with his environment just a few hundred footsteps from where we were sitting.

Although one of the guests recommended that we follow a trail up into the mountains to see the seven waterfalls, we didn’t do so, preferring to stick to lower ground in case of a fall.

The next morning, after having our coffees with Marion and Myles, two incredibly energetic travellers from the Western Cape, who have, I’ll have you know, hiked the entire South African coast. From the mouth of the Orange River to the Mozambique border! (This feat was accomplished in stages and took several years to complete.) Once our mugs were cold, it was time to hit the road again.

At lunchtime, we pulled over next to the river to have our picnic under the palm trees. With a table groaning, we enjoyed our fresh bread, leftovers and corn on the cob while appreciating the silence, which included a thousand weavers complaining about their new nests in the trees and the river’s gentle flow.

With our after-lunch coffees in tow, we hauled ourselves back into the Honey Badger, ready to set off to our next campsite at Camp Cornie.

As is his custom, Butch switched on his GPS and Tyre Pressure monitor, and then hooked them all up via his phone’s Bluetooth capabilities. Patting down his pockets, feeling under his bottom and checking the console between our seats, he found no phone. Most unusual for him.

We combed our picnic spot in search of the phone. Unfortunately, in many remote places, there is no connectivity, which means I couldn’t call him from my phone. The search was on in the old-fashioned way, and we had to engage our hands, eyes and memory to retrace all his steps.

After a thorough search, we decided to double back to Tjonkuvi Otjiruwo Campsite.

An hour and a half later we stopped at the Reception desk where Hilya could phone Butch. With bated breath, we waited, unsure whether his phone still had enough battery life.

Butch trusted that a herder or local walking past might hear the phone where it lay, and answer it. A tall order, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The next minute, we heard the phone dialling, and then, his phone started ringing, vibrating and lighting up clear as a bell, from inside the cab. There it was mysteriously buried behind the GPS nestled in a groove!

While the gathered crowd crowed with mirth and disbelief, we sighed with relief. That old iPhone might be ancient, but it still had a long way to go, and without it, Butch would be lost.

In no time, we were back on the road again, this time without incident, we hoped.

The route was becoming increasingly remote as we moved farther away from civilisation.

And then we saw, running from small, conical, woven grass huts, a group of tiny children waving as our dust cloud drew ever closer to where they stood.

We were now in Himba country.

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The Himba

The Himba people are a semi-nomadic ethnic group with an estimated population of approximately 50,000, who live primarily in the remote northwestern part of Namibia, as well as in southern Angola.

 

The Himba people speak OtjiHimba, a dialect of the Herero language, a language spoken in Namibia, parts of Botswana and Angola.

While OtjiHimba is the primary language, many Himba also speak Afrikaans, English, or other regional languages due to interactions with neighbouring communities and exposure to formal education and trade. However, OtjiHimba remains part of their cultural identity and is actively spoken by all generations within the community.

Polygamy is common among the Himba, where men may have multiple wives. Polygamous marriages are often seen as a means of strengthening family ties and alliances. Young Himba girls are married to male partners chosen by their fathers. This happens from the onset of puberty, which may mean that girls aged 10 or below are married off. Although the practice is illegal in Namibia, it remains widespread nonetheless. 

The Himba are primarily pastoralists, relying on cattle, goats, and sheep for nutrition and wealth. Livestock play a pivotal role in their culture, serving as a symbol of social status and wealth. Cattle are particularly prized, and livestock ownership is often a measure of a family’s prosperity and prestige within the community. 

Himba spirituality is deeply rooted in animism and the worship of ancestors. They believe in a supreme being, Mukuru, as well as a pantheon of ancestral spirits who serve as intermediaries between the living and the divine. Rituals and ceremonies, including offerings and prayers, are performed to honour these ancestral spirits and seek their guidance and protection. The Himba also have complex beliefs surrounding childbirth, initiation rites, and death, all of which are marked by elaborate rituals and ceremonies. 

Despite their semi-nomadic lifestyle, the Himba place a strong emphasis on community and communal living. Extended families often live together in traditional homesteads called kraals (Onganda), which consist of circular huts made from mud, thatch, and branches. These kraals are typically arranged around a central livestock enclosure and serve as the focal point of social and cultural life within the community. 

The Himba are renowned for their distinctive appearance, particularly the use of otjize, a mixture of butterfat and ochre pigment, which they apply to their skin and hair for cosmetic and protective purposes. 

Efforts are made to preserve the Himba way of life and protect their rights, including initiatives to promote sustainable tourism that respects their traditions and supports their communities. However, like many indigenous groups, the Himba face challenges such as encroachment on their land, limited access to healthcare and education, and the pressures of globalisation. 

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Late in the afternoon, after our extensive round trip, we arrived at Camp Cornie. We decided to stay for three nights to enjoy this isolated, far-flung pitstop.

One morning, I set off on my bike for a solo exploration of the region and thoroughly enjoyed the freedom to go at my own pace, stop when I felt like it (I stop a lot) take photographs without disrupting Butch, who always waits for me to catch up.

I met a Himba lady who introduced me to her son and told me, in halting English, about their culture and the unique way she brings up her baby. She is in a polygamous marriage, and all the mothers share the responsibilities for raising the boy.

While cycling, I paused to chat with a charming couple from Cape Town—a retired attorney and his wife—who were sitting there, as casually as could be, enjoying elevenses. The kettle, cups, and accoutrements were laid out on their picnic table. Turns out their bubble caravan’s axle had snapped on the corrugations, and after their tea, they would limp to the nearest campsite.

I informed them that assistance was readily available at Camp Cornie, where the owner could provide quick and efficient help.

The next morning I tagged along with Butch leading the way once more on a hike to explore the river’s edge.

Once again, we shared our picnic with one of the herders, who accepted our offering with a smile. We did spot a group of his tribe gathered near the river conducting what seemed like a ritual (or meeting!)

Following the road home was an easier option, Butch said, so off we went. Only one vehicle, on a mission to reach its next destination, passed us on our 15km return ramble.

Signs announcing the watering hole did boost our spirits.

Back at the campsite, we enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere and introduced ourselves to other guests, who were all eager to share their stories (as we were). Butch was also able to watch a rugby game as a bonus.

On our third morning, we did our usual cycle. Butch needed to see the sights too.

An African sunset never disappoints no matter the angle, foreground or background. Here it's all about colour.

Camp Cornie is a welcome oasis in the desert, and we enjoyed every minute of our time there, but it was time to head west to Upupa Falls.

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I didn’t know what to expect from the Upupa Falls, having only ever heard about them, the remoteness of the location and the desert one had to travel through to get there.

Everyone who had been there told their stories with such colourful drama, highlighting gravelly roads, corrugations, and conversations that were always peppered with words like isolation, desolation, unbearable heat, drought, and a strange tribe of people.

Many overlanders wouldn’t tackle the trip without a convoy of fellow travellers. In my mind’s eye, I thought danger, mishap, breakdowns, and I could envision a bedraggled, lone survivor, crawling through a desert, blistered, burnt, dehydrated, and the only sight ahead was a mirage and behind him, carnage.

We made it in one piece, enjoying the scenery as we went along. The small village underplays the significance of our destination.

Early mornings are cool, and we were the only tourists. The adjoining campsite seemed quiet with no soul about.

I perused the stalls selling knick-knacks and souvenirs. I succumbed to the friendly marketing and bought a small trinket.

The falls were a sight and well worth the effort to get there. Water and our spirituality are mystically connected, so that the crashing water’s never-ending fall over the precipice and billowing misty spray of the falls always bring a sense of peace and equilibrium to me.

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Time has stood still here, and that's the charm of the place. There are no queues, turnstiles, ticket vendors, guides, or a hallabaloo. Children still frolic in the pools, women come down to do their laundry, bathe, spend time with their friends, and even animals are free to join in and drink the refreshing waters.

In our schedule, there’s never enough time for a canoe trip, and by 10:00, we were back on the road again. This time heading east. Butch had other excitng plans to spend time with a professional hunter.

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